


A Simple Misunderstanding

by shes_gone



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Boys Are Dumb, Emotional Constipation, Exhibitionism, M/M, Masturbation, Nipple Play, Nudity, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-03-29
Updated: 2008-03-29
Packaged: 2017-11-18 17:49:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/563737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shes_gone/pseuds/shes_gone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seamus is naked a lot. Dean's worked out a way to cope.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Simple Misunderstanding

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wook77](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wook77/gifts).



> For [](http://wook77.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://wook77.livejournal.com/)**wook77** , [](http://hp-springsmut.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://hp-springsmut.livejournal.com/)**hp_springsmut** 2008\. Endless thanks to K, A, T and N. ♥

I slammed the stall door and looked down at my cock.

“What the bloody hell is _wrong_ with you?!” I hissed.

It twitched.

“You _arse_ ,” I said. “You complete and utter _prick_.” Anger and humiliation bubbled just below the surface of my skin, made all the worse by the images flashing through my mind.

My cock nudged at my thigh, and I gave a miserable sigh before unzipping my jeans.

Before reaching in, though, I closed my eyes and focused on the sexiest image of my girl I could manage.

My _girl_.

Or _any_ girl, for fuck’s sake, so long as her ample chest and smooth stomach replaced the body parts _currently_ dominating my mind. A broad, flat chest and stomach peppered with a sandy trail of hair that didn’t so much promise arousal as showcase it.

My cock twitched again, and swelled in my pants.

“You stupid fucker!” I hissed. “You don’t _like_ that, how many times do I have to tell you?!”

My cock and I hadn’t had to have this conversation for some time, and I’d thought the issue was settled. Not that there was an _issue_ , as such. It was just a misunderstanding.

A simple misunderstanding, in that my cock seemed to think _any_ type of nudity was a reason to get excited, rather than recognising that there were exciting types and unexciting types.

Which wouldn’t have been so terrible, really, or at least it would’ve been manageable, if my life hadn’t been filled with such an excess of one of the _unexciting_ types.

Namely, the _male_ type.

And I know that sounds a bit, well, _gay_ , but it wasn’t.

Because the simple fact was that I shared a dorm with Seamus _fecking_ Finnigan and, well, you know.

I reckon the whole bloody world knows.

About the nudity. The near constant fucking nudity.

Not that I expected my dorm mates to be particularly modest, really. We were five blokes, living in close quarters, sharing a bathroom with communal showers. Nudity happened. We just ignored it.

Ignored it while still trying to _avoid_ it when we could. We took our showers, we towelled off, we got dressed. It seemed normal enough.

But not Seamus.

Seamus was perfectly happy to lounge around our room in nothing at all, regardless that he’d been dry for ages, and the house elves had already collected his used towel.

And at first, it didn’t bother me that much. Honestly. For all it was a bit _off_ , it was just Seamus, and I ignored it.

I ignored it until the second week of term in fifth year, when I suddenly couldn’t ignore it anymore, ’cause that was when my cock took it upon itself to make _sure_ I noticed it.

And then all the nudity _did_ bother me, because my cock was an eager little shit, and it didn’t seem to care that _I_ didn’t care about Seamus’s nudity. I explained to it, again and again, but somehow my cock always seemed to win, and I’d end up pathetically wanking in a bathroom stall.

I considered asking Seamus to be a mate and cover the fuck up, at least while the rest of us were in the room, but I never did. I just spent more and more time in the bathroom, trying not to think about it.

As it turned out, though, I wasn’t the only one who objected. I came out of the bathroom one evening to find Ron hollering at him to put some bloody clothes on.

“I really don’t see the problem, Weasley,” Seamus snapped. “Either you’re not interested, and you can just look the other damn way, or you _are_. And in _that_ case, what the fecking hell are you complaining about?”

Ron gaped at him, and it’s a good job I haven’t got a face like his, because I’m fairly sure my cheeks would have actually burst into flame if anyone knew how hot they were after _that_ comment.

“And besides,” Seamus continued, “it’s _comfortable_.”

Ron turned to me, as the nutter’s best mate, but I was far too busy trying to act uninterested to be of any help.

So, Ron gave up and joined the rest of us, determinedly looking anywhere but at Seamus, who continued to lead a decidedly clothing-optional lifestyle.

Which meant my cock continued to lead a decidedly erect lifestyle, and I took to wearing wizard robes a lot more often than I’d’ve liked and set about training the idiot that it wasn’t to pay attention to that sort of thing.

That sort of thing being other cocks.

It was no easy task, the training, but I was resolute. I simply refused to touch my cock until it conceded that naked _girls_ were the only way to go, and allowed me to imagine just that. And it worked. Often the little bugger was so ashamed of its reaction to Seamus that it would wilt sheepishly as soon as I’d managed to picture the _acceptable_ nudity.

It got easier as the term went on and the girls in our year grew proper tits. I studied them whenever I could, cataloguing and committing them to memory, so they’d be ready whenever my cock needed reprimanding.

And once we were back for sixth year, and Ginny was on the scene? Meeting me in shadowy corners and unbuttoning her blouse, allowing my hands to roam nearly wherever they pleased?

Now it was easier than ever to keep my cock in check, with that sort of hands-on experience. As soon as I felt it perking up at the sight of Seamus’s bare arse, I could dip into my vivid memories of her fleshy chest and rounded hips and slim, freckled fingers. ( _Not_ to be confused with her brother’s large ones. My cock only made _that_ mistake once.)

And my cock obeyed, settling heavily back into my pants, unaffected by the display of man-flesh constantly parading around my bedroom.

I could even wear Muggle clothes again – that’s how well-behaved my cock was.

Which, of course, begs the question: Why was I now locked in a bathroom stall, desperately trying to coax my cock down from yet another misguided stand?

Why was it such a struggle to turn my thoughts back to _acceptable_ wanking fodder, when I’d had so much time to acclimatise myself to Seamus’s idiot arse, and to train my cock to ignore it?

Well.

It seemed I’d never considered the possibility that I might bloody well walk in on him _wanking_.

Especially not in the middle of the afternoon, when we were supposed to be in the common room, pestering Neville to help us with our Herbology essay before Harry, Ron and Ginny got back from Quidditch training.

I’d never considered it and yet _there he bloody well was_ , nakedly sprawled out on his bed, glowing in the heavy autumn sun. _Wanking_.

Really seriously wanking, too, with a hand running over his thigh and stomach and chest, tweaking and rolling and pinching his nipples. Arching his back up off the bed. _Moaning_.

“Christ, Finnigan!” I yelped before I could stop myself.

And because my life is apparently a cosmic fucking _joke_ , Seamus’s eyes flew open and locked with mine. And he fucking _came_. While staring at me.

My body was frozen, pinned to the spot and helpless under his gaze.

It was humiliating and revolting and ridiculous. And I was hard.

I’d been in the room for five fucking seconds and had just seen my best mate molest himself and come all over the bed, and I’d never been that hard that quickly in my entire life.

And it was a fucking Sunday, so I was wearing Muggle fucking clothes and fuck, fuck, _fuck_. My brain screamed at my legs to _move_ , but they didn’t seem to be able to hear it.

Seamus hadn’t moved, either. He was still staring at me and panting, seemingly unaware of the spots of come glistening on his belly and legs.

A moment or six passed before he blinked and averted his eyes. My legs suddenly started working again, and I fled the room before his averted gaze found my pelvis.

I flew down the stairs and through the common room, ignoring Neville, and didn’t slow down until I’d made it into the nearest corridor bathroom, where I set about instructing my idiot fucking cock that it was _not_ to be paying attention to my cocky, ridiculous, exhibitionist _wanker_ of a best mate, with his sandy hair and pink nipples and surprisingly large cock.

I concentrated on my mental image of Ginny, her hair and nipples and the press of her body against her broomstick, and, after a minute, reached my hand into my jeans.

And I _almost_ managed to keep the pink of her wind-whipped cheeks from morphing into the pink of Seamus’s flushed face when I came.

 

**¿?¿?¿**

The look on Seamus’s face as he came taunted me mercilessly as I trudged back to the dorm. I avoided returning for as long as I could, but I didn’t want to stay away _too_ long. I really did need to finish that Herbology essay and besides, I didn’t want Seamus to think that it was some sort of big _deal_ or something.

That I’d walked in on him wanking. And he’d stared into my eyes as he came.

It wasn’t a big deal, it was just bad timing.

But I must have been gone a bit longer than I’d thought, because the portrait swung open as I approached it, and out climbed all four of my dorm mates, on their way to supper.

“Dean!” Ron called at me, startlingly accusingly, and my stomach gave a lurch of terror at what Seamus might have told them. “Where’ve you been?”

“Off sullying your baby sister, no doubt,” said my idiot fucking wanker of a best mate.

His gaze was amused and suggestive when I met it, and my heart clenched as I half-expected him to come again right there in the corridor, in front of our friends.

He didn’t, though, and I managed to look away, and see Ron’s temper rising.

“Ron, stop it,” Harry said cautiously.

“Where’s Ginny?” Ron asked, his ears red and eyes narrowed at me.

“Dunno,” I said.

“She’s upstairs,” Neville said. “I saw her go up to her dorm, and she’s not come down yet.”

Ron stared at me a moment more before relaxing and turning a bit sheepish. “Yeah, alright. Sorry. Let’s go eat.”

“You _coming_ , Dean?” Seamus asked shamelessly. He smirked, as carefree and playful as ever, and I was once again thankful I didn’t have a Weasley complexion.

I rolled my eyes as casually as I could, and the five of us started down to supper, chatting and laughing as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened at all.

 

**¿?¿?¿**

To the casual observer, it probably _did_ seem like nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

Nothing about life in Gryffindor Tower in the following months changed at all. Except that I was now having a standoff with my cock not only every time it caught a glimpse of Seamus’s bare arse, but also whenever I remembered the quiver of his jaw or the arch of his back or the curl of his toes as he came.

Which, as it turned out, I remembered rather often.

The bastard.

And so I fought to turn my thoughts back to boobs and birthing hips, but a lot of the time it just didn’t work. My right hand was sore for several weeks, given the sudden increase in alone-time I was needing.

No one seemed to have noticed, though. Least of all Seamus, who was as gleefully naked as he ever was.

He didn’t seem to think a damn thing of it, so I scolded my cock ever more sternly and did my best to just forget the whole thing.

Ginny and I broke up, which actually made things a lot easier because I didn’t have to worry about Ron blowing his top every time I made a comment about a pair of tits.

So I talked about tits a _lot_ and struggled to forget the sound Seamus made when he came. I had just about managed to accept that the whole thing had never happened when I found myself, one spring afternoon, sitting on the floor of the dorm, opposite the prat himself.

We sat – both fully dressed – with our backs resting against our respective bed frames, sorting through a pile of old girlie magazines Seamus had scored from Cormac McLaggen. I flipped through the tattered pages, taking in the tawdry images and congratulating my cock on its reserve, despite the proximity of my best mate.

“Anything good in that one?” Seamus asked.

“Yeah,” I said, shrugging noncommittally.

“You _like_ these, right?”

I looked at him quickly. “’Course.”

“Good,” he said, casually turning the page of the magazine he was holding. “’Cause I’ve been thinking, and I’ve decided it’s about time we even the score.”

“The score?” I asked, furrowing my brow. “What d’you mean?”

“Well,” he said without looking up, “you enjoyed a bit of an eyeful a while back. Of me … enjoying myself.”

I gaped at him and felt my heart stutter. “I. What?”

“And I’ve decided it’s not fair.” He lifted his eyes to mine and held my gaze brazenly.

My heart settled into an alarmingly earnest staccato and I could do nothing but blink at him stupidly. “Not … fair?” I finally managed.

His left eyebrow cocked challengingly. “Nope. So I think you need to return the favour.”

I stared at him and it took a good moment for his meaning to become clear, but when it did my heart nearly exploded as images flooded my mind. Horrible, humiliating images of me, naked and touching myself as my fucking _idiot_ of a best mate watched.

“That was no bloody _favour_ , ya wanker!” I squeaked. He smirked, and I felt my cheeks burn. “I did _not_ enjoy it, and I had very nearly forgotten the entire traumatic incident until now! Thanks for reminding me, arse.”

“Didn’t like it, eh? That why you haven’t been able to keep your eyes off me for months?”

“What are you fucking talking about, Finnigan?”

“You can’t tell me you don’t love the idea of taking your jeans off for me right now.”

“ _Yes_ , I bloody well _can_ , because I bloody well _don’t_!”

He raised a smug eyebrow at me, and I felt a stab of apprehension. I watched him and felt my eyebrows contract as tension knotted in my chest.

“What?” I muttered, against my better judgement.

“Better tell your cock that, then,” he said, turning back to his magazine and flipping the page.

Slowly, horrifyingly, humiliatingly, I realised he was right. I’d stopped thinking about the girls, and, well.

I closed my eyes and cursed the maker of my jeans and wondered how the fuck Muggle men got away with _anything_.

Humiliation and regret roared through my ears and I just sat there, unable to open my eyes, unable to flee the room like any other idiot would have done _ages_ ago.

I’m not sure how much time passed before I finally heard him saying my name, but when I opened my eyes, he was looking at me with a small smile and something much closer to kindness than I’d been expecting.

“C’mon, mate. Just giving ya a hard time.” I blinked at him. “What’d ya expect? These magazines are _good_.”

He let his legs fall apart and my mouth went dry as I realised that I was not, in fact, the only idiot in the room with a hard on.

“Oh,” I managed.

“Let’s have a little fun.”

“A little … fun?” I asked, helplessly.

“Yeah.” He reached back to his bed for his wand, locked the dorm door and cast a silencing charm around the room.

“Seamus,” I said warily, “I don’t think this is a very good–”

“Dean,” he said firmly, “you owe me. I wasn’t kidding about _that_.”

I simply stared at him for a short eternity, and tried to ignore my fervently interested cock.

“Seamus, mate. Look,” I stammered. “I’m. I didn’t. I’m _not_ –”

“Me neither, mate. That’s not the point.”

I blinked. “Not the … what do you … What _is_ the point?”

“There’s no _point_ , it’s just fun,” he said, reaching for the button on his trousers. “C’mon.”

He undid his button and thumbed at the top of his zipper without undoing it, and my breath lodged in my throat as the tip of his finger skimmed over the bulge.

“C’mon, Dean. I dare you.”

My cock and my idiot Gryffindor pride leapt at that, and my hand was suddenly at my waist, fingers grasping at my button.

I paused and tried to swallow my nerves. “This isn’t … Nothing _weird_ , right?”

“’Course not.” He eyed me evenly and gripped the lead of his zipper as my fingers pushed my button through the hole. “Just a bit of fun.”

He pulled his zipper down and I did the same, ignoring the voice in my head that was wondering what the hell could be fun about wanking out in the open, when I could just as easily do it in the comfort of my own curtains-drawn four poster, where I never had to worry about what anyone might think of my cock or the way I _did it_ or the fact that I couldn’t stop staring at _him_.

That little voice fell silent, though, when Seamus reached his fingers into his open trousers and did something that elicited this delicious, throaty moan as his head fell back, and I suddenly understood exactly what was fun about this.

The only voice besides Seamus’s I could hear after that was my cock’s, which barked orders at my eagerly obedient fingers. They slipped into my jeans and pressed and squeezed and rubbed in search of the feelings that were putting that _look_ on Seamus’s face.

My fingertips slid up and down the length of my cock as best they could inside my pants, slipping underneath it to rub my balls, pressing the wet tip against the rough denim fabric.

I really wanted to pull it out so I could grip it properly, but I wasn’t sure just how far Seamus wanted to take this. And there was no way my cock was coming out before his did.

I was suddenly very aware of his cock, trapped inside his trousers, which were nearly as restrictive as my jeans. I imagined his fingers working their way around it, hot and damp, and _fuck_.

Now I _really_ needed to get my prick out.

Doing my best to sound daring and not desperate, I licked my lips and spoke. “You gonna just come in your pants? Or you gonna pull it out?”

His eyes opened and locked with mine, and his hand stilled. A smirk twitched into shape on his lips, and he pulled his hand out of his trousers.

The reality of what I’d just asked him hit me, and I was terrified that I’d blown it, that I’d crossed some invisible, unspoken line of acceptability, and that I was about to be humiliated.

He slowly stood up from the floor, and I watched helplessly, full of horror and a million pathetic excuses.

He stared down at me for a moment, then brought his hands to his hips and hooked his thumbs into his waistband.

I almost couldn’t breathe as he pulled his trousers and boxers down in one, letting them pool at his feet. I stared in disbelief at his cock, now free and standing at full alert, startlingly close to my eye-level.

The drop of pre-come on his tip caught the light as he stepped out of the heap of clothing. I don’t know how long I sat there and stared at it before he raised his shoulders.

“Well?” he said.

I managed to tear my eyes from his cock and meet his expectant gaze for a moment before I withdrew my own hand from my pants and stood up.

I hurriedly undressed from the waist down, and was surprised when I looked up to see Seamus taking his shirt off.

“You’re taking your shirt off,” I said, stupidly.

“’Course,” he said. “Can’t do it right if I can’t reach my nipples.”

I stared at him with what must have been a rather incredulous look.

“What? They like to be pinched. Don’t yours?”

“Um. I dunno.”

“Well, let’s see. Take your shirt off.”

I blinked and complied, trying not to think about why I was so willing to do everything he asked of me.

There was a moment’s awkward pause, once I found myself fully naked and erect, standing mere feet from my idiot best mate, who was in the same state. I was unsure, all of sudden, that we were actually about to do this, but then Seamus’s fingers were wrapped around his prick and he was _moaning_ , and it seemed that we actually _were._

My hand quickly found my own cock, and my fingers lost no time skimming the length of it, rubbing over the exposed tip, and sliding back up towards my balls. I’d soon built the familiar rhythm of it, and I couldn’t quite work out if it was comforting or even more unsettling in this bizarre situation.

I tried not to stare at Seamus too obviously, but I don’t think I did a very good job. I couldn’t help it, when he flexed his arse and threw his head back and rubbed a hand up his chest.

“Try it, mate,” he said. “S’good.”

“What?” I panted.

“Your nipples. Give ’em a pinch.”

And because I’d apparently lost the capacity for any independent thought, I reached my left hand up to my chest and tweaked my nipple.

I didn’t feel much. It felt good, I suppose, but not particularly exciting.

I looked back at Seamus, shrugging my acknowledgement, and was a bit startled by the exasperated look he was giving me.

“Not like _that_ , ya berk,” he said. “Like _this_.”

And suddenly he was much, much closer, and his hot, sweaty fingers were pressing against either side of my nipple, and he fucking _pinched_ it.

_Hard_.

And it fucking _hurt_.

And the pain shot straight to my cock in a way that was so bloody _good_ I thought I was actually coming.

In fact, it took three more strokes of my hand, and _then_ I was coming, and the force and speed of it took me by surprise.

I’d never had an orgasm standing up before – unless leaning against the shower wall counted – and I felt my knees start to give out. My hands flew up, grabbing onto whatever steadying thing they could find as the room around me shuddered and fell out of existence.

It took a moment, or a minute, or maybe several, for my awareness to return, and I realised that the hot, panting thing I was clinging to was, in fact, Seamus.

My idiot fucking wanker of a best mate.

His chest was heaving and his forehead was resting heavily against my shoulder, and I supposed that meant that he’d just come as well. Which explained the warm wetness on my hip.

I stared down at his sandy hair and tried to catch my breath and wondered if I shouldn’t be a bit more upset about practically holding my sweaty, naked, spent best mate.

Who’d just more or less made me come by pinching the _hell_ out of my still-smarting nipple.

Seamus’s head suddenly moved, and I watched him stare at my shoulder in confusion, as though trying to figure out just what it was.

He looked up at my face, with eyes full of surprise and … something else. Something I couldn’t quite identify but, for some reason, I found I really rather liked.

We stared at each other, and he was so close that I could feel the warm puffs of his breath against my face.

My eyes drifted down to the source of those breaths, and his lips were pink and moist and disarmingly appealing, and I was fairly certain I’d just lost my mind because I wanted little else in that moment but to bend down and taste them.

I looked back to his eyes, and for a single, heart-stopping moment, I thought he was going to kiss me.

But then he was gone, replaced by a rush of cold air.

I stood, dumbly watching him collect his clothes for a long, silent moment before I managed to move.

We didn’t say anything in the minutes that passed as we dressed, and I began to wonder if I shouldn’t be worrying that something _bad_ had just happened.

He finished dressing before I did, ironically, and hurried towards the door.

“Seamus,” I said, and was surprised at how _not_ desperate I sounded.

He stopped, but didn’t look at me. I stared at his profile and silently willed him to speak, to say something, _anything_ , to justify the impossibly calm, content feeling settling over me.

“See you at supper,” he finally mumbled, before starting for the door again. He opened it and paused, and glanced back at me.

And if he’d been anyone but Seamus fecking Finnigan, my idiot best mate, the one-man-nudist-colony, I’d’ve thought the pink tinge on his cheeks was a _blush_.

And it suddenly occurred to me that maybe my _cock_ wasn’t the one who’d misunderstood.

Seamus’s eyes met mine for only the briefest of moments before he was gone, but that was all it took for me to understand that I might have just found a much better way to cope with all the nudity.  



End file.
